


I Stopped A Sacrificial Ritual And All I Got Was This Glowing Scar

by Spasiba



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-07-12 00:17:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15983552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spasiba/pseuds/Spasiba
Summary: When she's not out in the field trying not to get herself and her friends killed by, well, everything and anything, the Herald of Andraste trains with her insufferable Commander and gets to know him a little better everyday.Work in progress, not sure where it's going!





	1. The Training Stick; A Mortal Instrument

“This is particularly unnerving.”

Lavellan complained once more for what felt like the thousandth time. She reached for the stick with which Iron Bull would often ask her to hit him and threw it at one of the training dummies. She would never openly admit it, but her “therapy” sessions with Iron Bull helped her out with anger management.

“Well, you’re particularly difficult to work with today.”

The response came from behind the elf. Lavellan turned around to glare at her trainer, none other than the Knight Commander of the Inquisition. One could never find anything wrong with him. He was always looking sharp, always well spoken, his hair neatly combed, not one strand of hair out of place. Lavellan could bet that he even combed that goofy looking fur he was wearing around to keep him warm. To put it simply, everything about Cullen Rutherford was so perfect it drove her insane, even more so since they started training together – meaning ever since Cassandra, her former trainer, decided it was crucial to start searching for the whereabouts of the remaining Seekers and left poor Lavellan with this pompous monster.

“I wasn’t a fighter to begin with – this scar does not change that fact. Also, I find it ridiculous that you expect me to understand your complicated sword fighting slang. I still don’t know what you want me to do when you tell me to execute a Full Iron Door Guard.”

Lavellan wiped the sweat from her forehead. She looked defeated already. Her hair and clothes were disheveled from all the exercises Cullen had her do – and they still had one hour of practicing fighting techniques left. Cullen was leaning on the wall of the stable, his annoying face guarded from the sun’s sharp teeth. He was in the middle of reading some reports and occasionally glanced at Lavellan only to frown and remark some beginner’s mistake she’d made.

“It’s Full Iron _Gate_ Guard, Herald. And you’re hardly even trying. It’s important that you learn the bases of fighting – maybe nobody was threatening your life before the Conclave, but you must agree with me that you need to be capable of defending yourself and your companions. After all, you cannot always depend on them for protection”.

“Well you certainly haven’t been helping me out with that, have you?”

Lavellan snapped at him, raising her hands in indignation at the lack of collaboration she was currently receiving. Cullen looked up from his reports and watched the elf with a puzzled expression.

“Excuse me?”

Lavellan sighed again as she sat down on the ground. Cullen was beginning to memorize the face the elf made whenever she sighed – brows furrowed in a concerned expression, eyes closed, head turned slightly down, shoulders slouched – her incapability to hide even the slightest frustration amused the Commander.

“I just wish Cassandra was here. Training with her was more, interactive, if you will. Don’t take it the wrong way, but you haven’t been very helpful. I’m not the scholarly type. I’m sure your theories and explanations make a lot of sense to the army you command but whenever you open that mouth of yours–”

The Herald’s speech was cut off by Cullen’s sudden decision to throw the report he was so intensely reading on the grass and reach for a training stick.

“Perhaps you’re right. I shouldn’t have made the presumption that you’d be able to keep up with the advanced training my soldiers go through.”

“Somehow you managed to make it worse, I must congratulate –”

Her words were cut off by the commander once more – this time, however, he had hit her with the stick. Not too hard, but hard enough to bruise her ego.

"Rutherford, what in the name of Andraste are you doing?"

“You wished your training session to be more interactive? Let’s start by working on your nonexistent parry technique.”

She wanted to bash his skull in with that training stick, she really did. But in a way, this was an improvement. And she still needed someone capable enough to command the Inquisition army, so murdering him wasn’t the wisest of choices for now. She resorted to staring at his training stick in a menacing way.

“Try and pay attention to what I’m saying: when engaging a foe in a one – on – one combat, eye contact is crucial. You must keep your eyes on your foe and try to anticipate their next move. It is absolutely necessary if you want to be able to parry their strikes.”

Lavellan looked at him, his presence much closer now than ever before. She had to admit, when he wasn’t speaking, she almost found his appearance keen to the eye. But staring at him from this close, the elf noticed that the Commander’s honey eyes harbored something within them that betrayed his implacable way of being. A sort of disgruntled little flame that refused to conform with the rest of Cullen’s persona, concealed behind his blonde eyelashes so no one would ever find it. She was sucked in by that flame and something inside of her wished to discover its source.

Cullen, being on the receiving end of Lavellan’s stare, felt uncomfortable. Her eyes were piercing his with an intensity he’d never felt before. It was as if she was staring into his soul. He felt his ears start to burn and his throat run dry, so naturally, he did the only thing he could have done – he hit her with the stick, again. This time, however, his attack received a reaction from the elf who used her hand to grab the stick and stop it from connecting with her armor. For a second, they both remained connected at the opposite ends of the training stick, looking at each other with mild confusion and waiting for one of them to break the silence, or the curse for that matter, that fell over them.

“So, it seems your reflexes are functional after all. I’m relieved. Next time, try and parry my move with the _training stick_ you're holding in your hand.”

Cullen cleared his throat and grabbed the stick from the Herald’s hand. Lavellan groaned. She was going to beat him with it.

“Please, let’s keep going, Commander. No more talking, though. The less you talk, the less I want to throw myself into the Breach.”

For the next hour, things seemed to have cooled down between Cullen and the Herald. For once since she had started training with Cullen, she felt that progress was being made. Closely analyzing his movements – maybe too closely as Cullen indicated a few times – often resulted in her being able to anticipate his move and even parry it most of the times. If all her enemies were going to be even as half as intimidated by her stare as Cullen was, she suddenly gained a major advantage in any future battle.

He wasn’t going to lie, Cullen was a bit surprised by how fast the elf had picked up on the technique he’d taught her. Sure, there was a lot of room for improvement, but at least it demonstrated there is still hope for the Herald. When Cassandra came and asked him to take over their training session for her, he’d never imagined it being this difficult. Today, for the first time in a whole week of sessions, he felt that they were finally moving forward. They weren’t moving fast, true, but it was considerably better than not moving at all.

“Never saw one of those with my own two eyes until now, you know?”

Lavellan interrupted his train of thoughts. Cullen was unsure as to what she was referring to. Had she been talking all this time? He had been so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t even pay attention to what Lavellan was saying.

“I - uh – My apologies, my mind was elsewhere. What is it you were talking about?”

The Herald chuckled at the Commander’s confused look.

“You were smiling. I thought maybe something funny crossed your mind but since it’s you we’re talking about I figured that’d be impossible.”

Cullen frowned. “I’ll have you know that –” he sighed. “No matter. I was smiling because I’m proud of the progress you made today, Herald.”

This time it was Lavellan’s turn to feel her ears burning. She looked away from the Commander's content gaze, unable to put together a pertinent response to his affirmation. Compliments weren't her thing, so she decided she liked it better when he criticized her. A few moments of awkward silence fell over them.

They both blurted out some rushed words to fill the silence at the same time, but to their relief, one of Cullen’s scouts came to inform him that the practice session was over and that it was now time to review some documents in his office. Busy schedule, busier man.

“We – uh – will continue again tomorrow, Herald. Enjoy the rest of your day.”

“Thank you, Commander. Good luck with your – whatever.”

So, they were back to insipid formalities. Lavellan needed some Iron Bull "therapy", so she wouldn't have to think about anything other than hitting Iron Bull's impenetrable abs.


	2. A Tonic for My Butt Pain, Please

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quality bonding time in the Hinterlands for Lavellan, Iron Bull, Blackwall and Solas. A possessed pack of wolves threatens the life of innocent farmers, local demons advocate for land owning rights, and a poor druffalo longs to return home to her family. As one would expect, chaos ensues.

Ah, the Hinterlands. One can so easily lose track of time wandering about in such majestic lands. Really, Lavellan almost felt bad for criticizing the living conditions back at Haven. No night passed by in this hell hole without having to wake up and drive away bears, or wolves, or even freaking rabid dogs, from the Inquisition’s tents. Not to mention the incredibly angry templars and mages – lovely people, the lot of them – that appear to have gone on a rampage, bearing little to no consideration of the innocent people caught in their crossfire. She realized, soon after their first encounter, that it was kill first and never ask questions with them.

Between running errands for the people, fending off various types of wild beasts and closing a couple of rifts whenever she felt that their party could take on the demons, Lavellan was glad she had been constantly training with Commander Stupid Grin back at Haven. Sure, when facing mages and templars she mostly hid behind Iron Bull’s back, occasionally shooting an arrow over his shoulders and praying it would hit an enemy, but slight improvements were certainly visible. For her lack of usefulness during combat she tried to compensate by gracefully hoarding every bottle of expensive looking booze she found, keeping an eye out for precious loot and traps and gathering all the materials she rendered would come in handy for potion making, or just for crafting in general.

“Blackwall, you just stomped over some spindleweed!”

She addressed the Grey Warden after they had reached the camping spot near Redcliffe’s farms. Solas and Iron Bull were setting up the tents – in a friendly way, no threats or curses involved - while she and Blackwall were trying to find a place for the requisition table.

“Oh?”

Blackwall glanced at his feet and noticed the plant’s red leaves crumbled under his leather boots. He put the table down and fumbled to the side.

“My bad, Herald. Hard to watch where you step while moving a table around.”

“Don’t sweat it, big guy. Spindleweed’s a tough plant, I can still use its leaves to make some mean tonics. Thedas shall fear our cold resistant butts.”

“I don’t know about you, Herald, but there’s nothing cold resistant about my butt. I usually like to keep it warm and covered while we’re out on a mission.”

They both giggled as they finally found a place for the table. The sun was setting down over the Hinterlands, and they were ready to start the fire and, well, camp. This was, by far, Lavellan’s favorite part of being out on a field mission. The smell of burnt wood and delicious food she’d been thinking about the whole day, the sound of her companions letting loose and talking with each other, their tired faces caressed by the fire’s warmth, almost seeming like they were enjoying themselves. It certainly wasn’t all that bad, being out here. Smiling to herself, she took a place by her friends and grabbed a roasted potato.

“So, what does tomorrow have in store for the Inquisition’s bravest field brigade?”

The elf asked as she reached for one of the grilled fish that were practically begging to be eaten.

“Well, we still have the matter of the possessed wolves to address – it’s crucial we rid of them in order to ensure the safety of the farmers and to lock the deal with Master Dennet. We should, however, be careful. I feel the presence of a rift somewhere down the river with energies far more powerful than we have encountered until now. I highly suggest we avoid interacting with it for the time being.”

Solas replied, grilled ram meat in one hand, gesturing to the whereabouts of the wolves’ den with the other.

“There’s also that druffalo that got separated from its herd not far from here, Herald. It’s not urgent, but we can check it out on our way back”.

Blackwall added while removing bread crumbs from his beard.

“We’re obviously **not**  going to chase a druffalo with rift demons roaming around like they own this land. Right, boss? I like a challenge just as much as the next guy, but that just sounds reckless, even by my standards.”

“I think your caution might be partly fueled by your fear of demons, Bull. But don’t worry. We’ll figure what our course of action will be after we asses the situation tomorrow. Solas is right though, the wolves are our priority, the Inquisition depends on Master Dennet's horses. We certainly can’t return to Haven empty handed or Cullen will have the soldiers ride into battle on our backs.”

Everybody seemed to agree, but Bull couldn’t refrain himself from adding his own take on that scenario.

“I’d snap that blonde ball of fur in half just like a twig. Also, some of the soldiers are already riding me, if you get what I'm saying.” 

"Bull, boundaries, man!" Blackwall snorted, suddenly not interested in his food anymore.

Planning continued for the next hour over a few bottles of locally brewed mead, soft laughs echoing in the camp from time to time. After that, everyone retreated to their tents to try and get some rest. The nights were still difficult for the Herald. She could almost never fall asleep immediately, as hard as she tried to. Thoughts of what happened in the last few months of her life rushed through her head with such clarity that it made her shiver at times. During the day it was easy to dismiss the reality of the situation, there was always somewhere she needed to be and something she needed to do, life kept her busy. But, oh, Heavens, the nights tormented her with questions and doubts and insecurities she just couldn't afford revealing to anyone, especially not to the people who so heavily relied on her to fix this mess. Such nights carried with them a sense of loneliness she rarely felt back home. The people of The Inquisition were all amazing and she was honored to have them at her side, but confessing her struggles to them felt improper, almost unprofessional. Time passed ever so slowly in her dark tent, but eventually exhaustion took control and she fell into a dreamless slumber.

Morning greeted Lavellan with the sound of preparation. Armor clinking as Blackwall dressed for battle, Bull sharpening his great sword, Solas humming as he cleaned his staff. Lavellan came out of her tent, a breeze of wind ruffling her hair. The sun was just beginning to rise, strands of pink sky reflected in the pond near their camp. The cold morning air pinched her cheeks, turning them rosy in a matter of seconds. She scanned the area attentively, watching the morning routines of her companions. Blackwall, after having put his chain mail shirt on, was now combing his hair in the pond's reflection. Iron Bull inspected his sword's blade, tracing one finger along its edges to check if it was sharp enough, while adjusting his eye patch with his other hand. Solas, his staff carefully placed on his lap, was now enjoying a cold glass of milk. He was the one to notice the elf's presence.

“Herald! You’ve awakened.” The apostate greeted, smiling slightly at the sight of Lavellan’s confused morning face.

“Yes, I'm surprised myself. Didn't think i'd wake before sunrise after that third mead bottle was opened last night. Were you three planning on leaving without yours truly?” The elf said as she grabbed some leftover dinner food.

“Of course not, boss. Blackwall suggested he and I patrol around the farms for a bit, since the Inquisition’s agents haven’t arrived yet. We’ll set out on our mission once Harding’s patrol reaches the camp.”

Blackwall nodded in agreement; Bull took a sip from his hot cocoa before putting on his boots. He carried some of that stuff everywhere he went, and Lavellan didn't understand why Bull chose cocoa specifically, until she tried it for herself. It was sweet and delicious, and she loved it when Bull made her some too. She could almost bet that the man had an obsession with sweet, pink things. Iron Bull seemed full of secrets. Once the two warriors finished their preparations, they took off by foot, promising to return in an hour.

“I will start dispelling the wards I put up last night. It seems we had no unwanted guest visits. Strange, considering the dangers that are lurking about.”

Solas knelt by one of the wards, and Lavellan watched in wonder as the apostate made the whole thingy disappear with just a movement of his hand. Magic wasn’t a novel thing for the elf, true, but displays of it were rare in her clan, as they only happened when the Keeper and her First were training in private, so she never got to see magic unfold this close until the conclave. It was something that fascinated her, but she refrained from asking the apostate about it. He had all these interesting theories about the world of dreams and how people shouldn't be afraid of spirits and as amazing as they sound, there was a part of her that couldn't help but doubt everything Solas was saying. Before he had the chance to catch the younger elf staring intently, she turned her gaze to the requisition table, focusing back on packing everyone’s lunch. Last thing she wanted was the apostate subtly calling her a heathen again.

“Solas, guess what we’re having for lunch!”

Lavellan blurted out in an attempt at making conversation. The Herald’s joyous tone caught the apostate off guard, making him lose his balance for a second and almost fall face front on his ward. He turned his gaze to the elf, one hand still hovering above the ward.

“Hint: it’s what we’ve been eating since you accidentally set that ram on fire!”

He sighed.

“I had no way of seeing – that ram had no business running in my face as I was spellcasting, Herald! Still, I can’t say I'm not grateful that you managed to turn my unfortunate mistake into a rather tasty one. I do like the ram better than the fish.”

They discussed proper techniques of cooking ram meat while Lavellan prepped their horses. She felt happy, connecting with an elf again, even if that elf was Solas, whose dislike of the Dalish people was not kept secret from Lavellan. As hard as life had been for her back in the Free Marches, she missed her clan, her old life, the warmth and care of her people.

Soon after everything was ready for their departure, the agents, alongside with Bull and Blackwall, arrived at camp. Lavellan mounted her horse and gestured towards the river. It was time to head out. The trip there was mostly peaceful, aside for a couple of bandits camping near a gorge. Blackwall kept his eyes out for that druffalo, but there had been no sign of it, and Iron Bull made sure to remind him that they were not staying in the area to look for that damned beast. They saw the rift Solas was talking about and made sure to tread carefully, as not stir the demons near it. By noon, they were fairly close to the den and decided to stop and have lunch before going in for the kill.

“Just what should we expect to find inside? I need to mentally prepare myself.” The Herald asked, looking at no one in particular, but curious to see what everyone’s expectations were.

“There’s probably a demon – or maybe more than one, exerting their energies on the wolves and driving them into the craze we have witnessed before. If we’re careful enough, they should not pose too big of a threat to us.” With Solas reassuring everyone in the party, the others nodded in agreement. It was nothing they couldn’t handle. And it wasn’t.

The wolves turned out to be rather numerous, but there was only one terror in the cave and Bull took it out as soon as he laid his eye upon it. With Blackwall fending off the wolves, Lavellan and Solas managed to attack them from a safe distance. Soon enough, after they looted the place and scoured it for resources, they were back on their horses and on the way to Dennet’s home. They found some interesting equipment back in the cave. If she had to guess, before it got overrun by demon wolves, this place was probably used as a smuggler's hideout. There was this particular sword with carvings that matched Cullen's fur and she thought that he'd probably like it. If not, she could just sell it and buy a bigger bathtub for her place.

The trip back was filled with pleasant conversations and it was easy to notice that everybody eased up now that the wolves no longer posed a threat. As Lavellan took time to bask in the midday sun and appreciate the beautiful mountain landscape more closely she noticed something come out of the gorge just as they were approaching it.

“Shit. Watch out!”

Seconds later, the druffalo emerged out of the gorge. It was Druffy. Chased by giant spiders, running towards them at a terrifying speed. Her high pitched screaming scared the horses into a frenzy. Lavellan’s companions managed to dismount the horses safely and engaged in combat with the spiders. Her horse, however, got so scared that it basically jumped away from Druffy’s path, dismounting the Herald midair. The elf stared at the ground in shock - she was pretty high up. That was the only thing she had time to realize before her back, or more specifically her butt, brutally hit the ground, knocking the air out of her lungs. The fall was far from gracious. Had everybody else not been busy killing the spiders, they would have heard a cracking sound coming from where the elf landed.

“Fucking ouch! I think – Guys, I think I broke my butt.”

All three of her companions started laughing, but the gravity of the situation sunk in only after they took care of the last spider, when they realized, one by one, that the Herald of Andraste hadn’t moved one inch from where she'd fallen. They all rushed to her side, Druffy following them close behind.

“Are you guys finished with the spiders?” The elf addressed her group, all heavy breathing and teary eyed. They formed a circle around her, trying to asses the damages. Nothing looked broken upon first glance.

"You alright, Boss? That was quite the fall you took back there." Iron Bull knelt beside her, checking to see if any bones were showing.

“Splendid, truly. Great teamwork back there. Solas, could you maybe use your blinding bald head to send a rescue signal to our agents, please? They’ll know it’s you in an instant.” She mumbled incoherently for a bit before fainting, and the guys exchanged concerned looks between each other.

“Guess we’re going back to Haven earlier than we expected.” Bull scratched his head and said to the others after a moment of silence.

“Appears so. Let’s head back. Could you carry her, Bull? We'll stop by Dennet's after we make sure The Herald's safe back at camp. I’ll also have to write a full report for Leliana, to explain our… early departure.” Blackwall said as he grabed the reins of Lavellan’s horse, glancing towards Druffy to make sure she was still following them.

“Of course. Make sure it doesn’t sound too _butthurt_ , though.” Iron Bull laughed nervously. “Get it?”

“Perhaps it’s a bit too early for such jokes, Iron Bull.” Solas was a bit off put by Bull’s inappropriate behavior, but decided to focus on the road ahead, they could run into another obstacle at any time. 

“What? Blackwall thinks it's funny. The Boss would’ve liked it too.”

It was time for the four of them to pack their backpacks and head back to Haven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I got a bit carried away with this chapter, but writing it was loads of fun, so I hope you'll enjoy it regardless of its size!  
> Commander Furby returns in chapter three!


	3. Doctor, Will I Ever Be Able to Sleep on My Back Again?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After The Herald of Andraste suffers a work related accident, she and her team are forced to return to Haven to receive some much required medical attention.

Back at the Inquisition’s not so secret base, the three advisors were discussing current pressing matters by the war table when someone insistently knocked on the council’s door. Leliana eyed her companions to see if any of them were expecting anybody, but both Cullen and Josie turned to her in mutual confusion.

“Yes?” The spymaster inquired. The door opened almost immediately, and a sweaty, heavy breathing scout rushed to her side with an envelope that had her name inscribed on it.

“What’s with the rush, agent?” Leliana glanced at the tired scout, watching as he desperately grasped for air, trying to regain his composure. She reached for the envelope and took it from his trembling hands.

“Agh – Late. I ran all the way – “

He stopped to take another breath of air. “Ran all the way from the valley – the envelope got lost two days ago.” Josephine approached the man with a glass of water while Leliana opened the envelope.

“Thank you, Lady Ambassador.” The man said before drinking the whole glass in a matter of seconds.

“Curious, it’s a mission report from Blackwall. Wasn’t the Herald in charge of writing these?” A moment of nervous silence befell the advisors as Leliana ran over through Blackwall’s report. Her loud sigh covered her agent’s erratic breathing, and a slight frown appeared on the nightingale’s otherwise implacable face.

“Leliana?” Cullen approached her, curiously eyeing the report she held between her slim fingers. Josephine left the room accompanied by the scout, asking him about the late arrival of the report.

“You should read for yourself, Commander. It appears our main team is just as effective in its approaches as well as it is completely incapable.” Leliana offered the report. Cullen took it and started reading attentively. His expression grew from mild interest to shock, and by the time he reached the halfway point of the report he started reading it aloud.

“ _Solas said the demons from that rift were too spooky (...) and then we killed the bandits (...) Just one wrinkly demon in the cave_ … Oh, sweet Maker.” He paused shortly to rub his temples. This was a migraine just waiting to happen.

“ _I had to look for Druffy because when I was a young lad we also had druffalos at our farm and they were majestic creatures, beautiful and wise (...) Atrocious druffalo screaming…_ ” Cullen frowned as he read the last lines of the report : “ _Anyways, we got the deal sealed but the Herald fell from her horse and we all think she might have broken her butt so that’s why we’re going to come back early. Most likely to arrive in about a week from today. Best regards, ~~To~~  Blackwall_”

“I had no idea Blackwall’s writing style resembled that of a stable boy.” He mumbled to himself, but Leliana heard him as well and snorted.

“It’s not all that bad, Commander.” They both looked at each other and laughed at the absurdity of the whole situation just as Josephine returned.

“From what I’ve gathered the scout’s knapsack was stolen by a wild bird. The poor man spent two days climbing the trees along the main road and checked every nest he saw. He found it half a day ago and ran all the way here just because Blackwall described the report’s contents as invaluable. What did it say, exactly?” Josephine looked at her fellow advisors curiously.

“Invaluable is a way to put it, yes. The Inquisition has finally gained Master Dennet’s help, Josie. He promised us his whole stable.”

“That’s most profitable, but the sour looks on your faces lead me to believe there’s more in that letter than you’ve divulged.”

Cullen cleared his throat and rubbed his neck nervously “Ah, yes. Blackwall – uh – mentions that, quote unquote –” The commander took a glance over the report again “the Herald fell from her horse and might have broken her butt.”

“Oh, goodness! That sounds serious, I must speak with Mother Giselle, we shall arrange a visit from a specialized Orlesian healer as soon as possible – When is the Herald expected to return?” Josephine frolicked about the room with a concerned look plastered all over her face. Her attentiveness to the needs of the Inquisition’s members was much appreciated by everyone. Having always looked out for her little brothers and sisters back in Antiva harnessed in the young Ambassador a sort of a hen – like reflex that pushed her to take an interest in both her friends, and the Herald’s companions’ wellbeing.

“Don’t worry, Josie. There’s still plenty of time to -” Leliana began, but she was interrupted by a knock followed shortly by the door opening. For once again silence overcame the advisors. With one quick glance at the date inscribed on the now infamous report, they all understood. The horned figure standing on the threshold was none other than Iron Bull, with the Herald rested on his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Bull? Is anyone in the council room? Turn me around so I can see!” The Ben – Hassrath obliged and turned to face the door while grinning like an idiot. If anyone had told him joining the Inquisition will turn out to be this fun, he would’ve came running to Haven himself.

“Ah! So, you are here! Awfully quiet, the lot of you.” Lavellan greeted, as though the image of her being carried around by the Bull was nothing out of the ordinary. Josephine gestured towards the door. “I… still have to make arrangements for that Healer, I’ll leave at once. It is a pleasure to have you back, Your Worship.” And with that, the Antivan ambassador gracefully slipped past Bull, offering the man a slight nod as she closed the door behind her.

“You don’t need to worry about my current health situation, I assure you. I’ll feel better in no time. I’d much rather prefer that we discuss our new arrangements.”

“Let’s discuss then. Herald, has the situation improved in the Hinterlands since your last visit there?” Leliana took a seat on the bench by the wall. Cullen was clumsily arranging reports and letters on the war table, glancing nervously at the elf from time to time.

“Oh, undoubtedly it has, otherwise Master Dennet would never have agreed to offer his help. We rid of the templar and the apostate camps, checked on the new watchtowers, sealed a couple of rifts, although, there are some we might need to come back and deal with once we are better prepared.” Lavellan patted Bull on his back, gesturing him to move closer to the map, where he marked the closed rifts. Leliana, approaching the war table, seemed pleased to see the Inquisition’s involvement finally starting to spread across the map.

“There is, however, the matter of Grand Enchanter Fiona’s meeting. It’s due in two weeks, and I worry that I won’t be able to attend in my current… state.” Embarrassment was plastered all over Lavellan’s face as she shifted her body in search for a more comfortable position. She quickly glanced at Bull with only what must have been guilt stricken in her eyes, but he man dismissed her worries with a wave of his free hand and an understanding look.

“I trust that Josephine’s healer will work their wonder on your… rear, Herald. You should rest for now, I presume both you and your companions must be weary from your travels. We’ll have a more… formal meeting in the council tomorrow as per our usual schedule, if you will.”

Another knock on the door reminded Leliana of some pressing spymaster matters she had to attend, and, excusing herself, she left the council room with her agent, thus reducing its occupants to Iron Bull, the Herald and the Inquisition’s Commander, who seemed, up until this point at least, overly occupied with priority coding reports.

“Isn’t that massive knot between your eyebrows bothering you, Commander?” Lavellan had been searching for the right words to address the Commander ever since she, or more specifically Bull, set foot in the council room. Cullen’s suspect quietness did nothing to help ease Lavellan’s turmoil, so, naturally, all hopes she had at engaging the man in the pertinent, work related conversation she had planned vanished as she nervously asked him the first question that came to mind.

“I’m sorry, your ladyship. It’s just that I struggle to imagine a scenario in which graceful creature such as yourself would fall from her horse.”

Cullen wanted to bang his head on the wall. Of course, he knew that falling from a horse is usually very painful, and he couldn’t believe that instead of offering the Herald of Andraste some much needed comforting words, he retorted to mocking her. That woman just brought out the worst in him, and he had no idea how to deal with that. It surprised the commander, however, to see that a playful smile grew on the face of the elf, instead of a frown, or a discontented look.

“Funny, I thought you out of all people will be able to relate to my unfortunate accident.”

“Why would I – oh, that pesky little dwarf!”

It’s only natural that Varric wouldn’t hesitate to bring up the templar march organized by Meredith, when Cullen’s horse magically tripped over a sleeping kitten, strategically placed there by Anders if Cullen had to guess. The whole incident took place in the heart of Hightown, so nobles, people of interest and all of Cullen’s colleagues had the chance to see a grown ass man in 20 kilograms of armor fall from his horse and require the help of three other men to get up to his feet. The embarrassment of the moment alone was nothing compared to the scolding he received from the Knight Commander herself after the event was over. The thought of it alone was enough to bring a frown to the Commander’s face.

“Oh, don’t worry, Rutherford, it happens to the best of us.”

“Touché, Lavellan.” There was a pause in which Cullen worriedly looked at the elf. “Just be more careful from now on. I already worry that you’ll injure yourself in battle, and I really dislike the thought that I must add horses to the list of things that may harm you while out in the field.”  

The elf’s features softened, and the earnestness in Cullen’s eyes rendered her incapable of looking at him anymore. Instead, she moved her eyes on the war table, at Blackwall’s mission report.

“Don’t worry, commander. For as long as these two legs of mine keep cooperating with me, I shan’t ride another horse unless absolutely necessary. But you have work to attend to, and I should probably head back to my quarters now, Iron Bull must be tired too.”

“Hardly the case, Boss, you barely outweigh my weapon. Have a good one, Commander.”

“Right, I’ll be here if any of you require my assistance.”

Bitter smiles were exchanged between the two of them, for clearly, they had more to say to each other than these mere playful teases. That they both lacked the courage, that they both deemed themselves too unworthy for the company of the other were things yet unknown to them, for the outline of their feelings was only now beginning to form.

It took three more agonizing days before that famous Orlesian healer finally showed up in Haven. Three days Lavellan spent in bed, lying on her stomach and just waiting for anybody to drop by her place and free her form the boredom demon she just so desperately wanted to murder. Three embarrassing days in which she refused all offers of help, and crawled to the bathtub so she could at least keep the dignity of bathing herself intact.

Mornings were filled with the usual council meeting, which, for the time being, was moved to the Herald’s chambers. It was weird seeing everybody crammed up in her tiny room, with the map sprawled out on the floor, covering up all the space. Leliana would sit on the bed next to the elf and point to different area of interests, where Josie would tiptoe to and place markers. Cullen sat on the floor, with a stack of reports neatly placed next to him. It all seemed so intimate to the elf, it was a good thing that the warmth of the room proved to be a believable explanation when trying to justify the wild blush on her face.

On that particular day, after the meeting was over, Josie lingered a bit longer in Lavellan’s room.

“Is something the matter, lady Josephine?” The Herald inquired.

“Actually, Your Worship, I wanted to let you know that the healer has finally arrived and is willing to see you whenever you wish.”

A sigh of relief escaped the elf. She was prepared to put this incident behind her at once. “Let’s not waste any more time then, Ambassador. I’m as prepared as I’ll ever be.”

“Hope you can maintain this level of optimism, Herald. I’ll call the man at once.” Josie seemed almost worried. That wasn’t a good sign in Lavellan’s book. Five minutes later the Ambassador returned with a man who seemed to be well into his forties, wearing one of those fancy attires she had seen back in Orlais.

“Bonjour, madame Lavellan. Allow me to introduce myself. I am monsieur Cul Derriere, and as my chere lady Josephine must have certainly informed you, I specialize in the healing of the bones, illnesses and anything wrong concerning bottom parts.”

“I should… leave you to it then, monsieur Derriere.” With a short nod, the young Montilyet basically ran out of the room, leaving the healer and the elf alone.

“Shall we get to it then, lady Herald? You should take off your clothes, so I can better examine your back.” There was a pause. “You don’t need to take your small clothes off unless you want to, of course.” Laughing at his own joke, Mr. Derriere opened his bag and pulled out a set of poultices, incenses and ointments. Lavellan gulped while nervously examining the array of creams the man was arranging on her bedside table. Nobody told her anything about massages.

“I have but one question before we begin, monsieur … Derriere. Did you get into this business because of the name or was it the other way around?” She didn’t know exactly why, but the answer to this question would either put her mind at ease, or fuel her nightmares for the next few months.

“I usually leave that up to my customer’s imagination, your ladyship.” He said, rapidly turning the pages of one of his spell books. Bad answer.

“No, don’t do that. My imagination is sick and twisted, it’ll eat at me for a long time and I’ll end up with serious traumas.”

The man sighed. “Well, in all honesty, it seems to be the result of a divine farce, Herald. My parents named me Claude, but years in the Circle crippled my name to Cul. Cul – aude. I can still hear the templars mocking me to this day.  It was soon after I managed to part away from the circle, thanks to my influential lover, lady Emilie Derriere, that I discovered my passion for a particular branch of healing magic involving the locomotion system, and thus I started my business. My parents insisted I marry lady Emilie and take her family name in order to secure myself a position in the high society of Orlais, so that’s how I ended up with this particular name. I hope this answer puts you at ease, your ladyship.”

“Heavens, not even Varric would have been able to come up with such a story! But why did you stick with Cul if it was just a nickname the templars used to mock you with?”

Lavellan couldn’t really look at the man, as she was lying on her belly, waiting for him to begin the treatment, but Cul seemed lost in thought for a solid minute.

“I guess I never wanted to give them the satisfaction of getting to me. If I appeared to be affected by them calling me names then that would have meant that I let them win. It might sound silly, but this nickname reminds me that I had the necessary strength to survive that dark period of my life while also keeping my dignity.”

“It’s not silly. I – I get it. Thank you for your answer, Cul. I think I’m ready to begin.”

The man laughed. “Begin? Why, Herald, I’m almost done!” Reaching for his quill, monsieur Cul Derriere started writing a daily treatment Lavellan had to follow for the next week in order to ensure that the broken tailbone would completely heal. Explaining the details to the surprised elf, who was still in the midst of processing everything, the man concluded: “You should feel better very shortly, lady Lavellan. I’d advise you to take a short stroll today, but don’t over exert yourself.”

Lavellan thanked the man wholeheartedly and even got up to walk him to the door. 

Before she even got back to bed, Josephine returned, one of the most apologetic looks Lavellan had ever seen plastered on her face. She struggled hard not to laugh at the woman's genuine regret.

"Herald, my humblest apologies, I had no idea he would be such a - "

"A great healer. Relax, lady Montilyet. For an ass, your healer turned out to be quite a remarkable man." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Late, late, late. I am very late. I am also very sorry, but that doesn't change my lateness.  
> I'll be back (soon?) with more of whatever this is.


End file.
